


Torrid Moon, Burning Waters

by The Primera Haruoka (TenshiEren14)



Series: Calm Moon, Blazing Fire [2]
Category: The Dragon Prince
Genre: Attempted Necromancy, Because of Reasons, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Magic, Moonshadow Magic, More tags to be added, Pre-Canon, Reunions, Tinker's name is Samir, au-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 18:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20178754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenshiEren14/pseuds/The%20Primera%20Haruoka
Summary: Moments collected from the dais of time brought to the forefront of gentle memories.(Based loosely on incorrect TDP posts on Tumblr because some of these are absolutely golden.)





	Torrid Moon, Burning Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Read the post this was based on! https://ask-runaan-anything.tumblr.com/post/186783631685/runaan-tinker-what-is-the-one-thing-i-asked-you
> 
> This was a lot of fun to do, even if I didn't keep the original humour of the post. Please enjoy reading and I'm hoping to have more of these up soon!

There was a pungent scent lingering just outside the gates, a bitter taste filling his senses as Runaan approached the garden. The night was past its apex, the darkness of new moon hanging over Runaan’s shoulders with the uncomfortable flourish of an ill-fitting cloak. He sighed quietly as he crossed the threshold, suppressing the fine tremble in his fingertips as the magic hit his senses fully. 

There was regret weighing his boots, the viperous whispering of thoughts he had long locked away for the purpose of clarity during his mission scratching free of their neat box and spilling to the forefront of his thoughts. That wretched smell was stronger now that he had entered the boundaries of the runic circle. He could see the pallid hue of live magic as it crackled forth from the center of the circle, felt his hairs stand on end as primal energy called to the magic within him, stirring a deep restlessness in his chest. The air resisted him as he walked, alight with power and vicious in its own right; it burned against his skin, pushed past the layers of his clothing to fill his bones with that deep unease. 

He brushed past the bramble of ayrshires, noting the curl of their petals and the sickly tint to their usually vivid blossoms. For a moment, he considered leaving the druid to his spell. 

He was well aware of the type of magic that was at play now. The thought of it was enough to make his stomach curdle from the implications alone. There was a crescendo in the static magic in the air, a concentration of the energy as it converged at the anchor of the circle; the final step before the casting of the spell. Runaan set his eyes on the moonless sky. He looked towards the pillar of silvery light as it poured unfiltered into the darkness. He clenched his fist and continued walking, his regret tempered by the cold realities before him. 

They had spoken of it in jest before. Of the protocols that would be in place should he never return from his assignments and of how the druid would never accept that outcome. Runaan could see him clearly now; the breadth of his back dwarfed by the unholy light which consumed the energies from the earth around it leaving a concentric trail of wilted out bushels and blooms. He supposed he should be touched that this ridiculous man was willing to commit taboos in his name--and perhaps, were he  _ actually dead _ , his spirit would take some strange, unbecoming comfort in this viscerally unlawful display. As things stood, he was torn between disappointment and concern. 

With a steadying breath; he bent to the floor, scratching cleanly--deliberately-- through the  _ Tranvorto _ rune closest to his toes. Magic was such a fickle, unreliable thing. It had a spirit of its own and was far more capricious than any storm or sky. And tonight, a moonless night? The strain alone would theoretically be enough to… 

Well. Runaan wasn’t dead. 

That was enough to stop the spell. 

“ _ Rayla! _ ” His features were pinched as he turned with his scold heavy on his tongue, upsetment and resentment and just a hint of desperation seasoning his words, “I told you to leave--!” 

Despite himself, Runaan felt a smirk tug at his lips. It figured that even the ominous illumination of a near completed forbidden spell would only serve to make this ridiculous man ever more endearing. He had been away for far too long, had missed the flare of those dew-bright eyes against the stretch of his moon-touched hair. 

Runaan stood slowly, drawing attention to his fingers with a deliberate clapping motion to rid himself of the effervescent texture of live runes on the skin, “I’ve returned, Samir.” 

here was silence. The air between them was stagnant; the burn of too much magic forced into too small of an area, a bolt of lightning on the cusp of erupting forth. 

He took a step from the center of the circle, the unsteadiness of his motion hidden behind the peerless white light emanating from his hands, “You’re late.” 

It was Runaan who closed the distance between them, the friction of the supercharged air fighting him with every step. This magic felt cold on his flesh, left the aroma of wrongness stamped into the front of his brain. Such things would never stop him--could _never_ have stopped him as he walked with pride towards the druid and as he stood mere breaths away from a man on the verge of committing the most reprehensible of acts, Runaan could focus solely on the fairness of his features, on the way he could not keep the smile from his lips. 

“What was the one thing I asked you not to do?” 

That man, this unbelievable, ridiculous fool of a man, barked out a laugh, raising his hands and finally releasing the accumulated power with a light flourish and a shattering sound, ‘Raise the dead?”

Immediately, there was a great relief on Runaan’s senses, a release of tension and pressure that floated up and away into the vast expanse of moonless sky. Power kissed fingertips still sparkling with borrowed energies rested on his cheeks, a flirtation and an anchor and everything Runaan had missed while he was gone. The glow of the moon’s magic was finally draining from his beloved’s eyes, the slow reveal of crystalline violet which mixed with the smell of alba roses finally detectable beneath the stench of lurid necromantic arts. There was peace in his mind, a slotting of puzzle pieces too perfect to not be satisfying, “And what is it you were trying to do?” 

If anything, his smile widened. The sheer lack of regret or guilt or hesitance in his body unnerved Runaan, but he supposed it could be overlooked for now. He pulled Runaan’s face ever closer to his, stopping short seemingly just to gaze into Runaan’s eyes, “To be fair, I haven’t raised anything yet.” 

He pressed their foreheads together, an exchange of warmth, of skin, of  _ contact  _ and Runaan could do naught but dig his fingers into the folds of those robes as the sanctity of home was restored.


End file.
